Jelly Beans
by sofasoapsopia
Summary: Janelle was eleven years old when little Harry Potter arrived on Privet Drive, and she can safely say that after babysitting him for the first eleven years of his own life, and despite him being away for the majority of the year, he still caused trouble in her life. Honestly, owls? And what's this thing about trolls totalling the girls bathrooms? AU
1. Chapter 1: Privet Drive's New Resident

Edited 07/07/17

I think we all know that I don't own Harry Potter.

 **Chapter 1: Privet Drive's New Resident.**

Janelle Gracie Bannister was eleven years old, the only child to old William and Gwen Bannister, and at the current moment, bored.

She sat boredly on her bottom on the driveway to her house, to which she boredly had her elbows propped up on her boredly bent knees, her face lazily cupped in her glove-covered palms, _boredly_. She sighed dramatically.

Privet Drive didn't have many children, not any that were her age at least. If anything, everyone was a baby! A one-year old or a two-year old, just a little bumbling and babbling ball of happy toddler. In fact, her neighbours – the Dursley's – had their own little babe, a pale, chubby little thing named Dudley with many rolls and tufts of thick blonde hair. He was cute, she guessed, if a bit of a lazy baby. But then again, he was only, what, half a year old? Five, six months? She'd only seen him a few times, and he was still too young to be able to be babysat by an eleven-year-old liker herself, as she did for a lot of the little legged children that toddled on Privet Drive.

Turning to her right she could see them right now, fat Mr. Dursley sitting in his car parked in the driveway, thick fingers curled around the wheel visible through the tainted windows. Mrs. Dursley was rounding the back of the car, baby in her arms and an almost disgusted look on her narrowed face. It was only after blatantly staring for the few seconds it took Mrs. Dursley to rip open the car door did Janelle realise that the babe in those bony arms wasn't little Dudley.

Janelle watched astounded as she tried to figure if maybe she'd missed the fact that Mrs. Dursley had given birth to two little babies instead of one. It... was entirely possible, Janelle knew how much the two Dursley adults coddled and bragged about their little _blonde_ boy and nothing else. She probably zoned out when they cooed about their darked haired boy.

Mrs. Dursely was still holding the little boy, bent over and wrestling with the seatbelts, as for some reason it didn't look like they'd had another baby booster. Her forehead crinkled. Now that wasn't right at all. Janelle cupped her hands around her mouth, mind still whirling, and called out, "Mrs Dursely! I didn't know you had another baby! When did that happen?!"

Mrs. Dursely jumped up in fright, letting out shriek of pain when her head hit the ceiling of their car. She trotted out from the car on her heels, a hand gone to rub her head through her perfectly curled blonde hair. Janelle hid her surprised grin when the woman turned to her, a pleasant yet tense looking smile on her face. She gave a 'one moment' motion with her hand to Mr. Dursely when he'd pressed his large nose against the door window and walked the short distance between the two driveways.

"Don't you think it's a little too cold to be out and about Janelle?" was the first thing Mrs. Dursley said. Janelle wasn't surprised, it was snowing, after all.

"No Mrs. Dursley. I was bored, thought I'd have some fun while the snow lasted." said Janelle, standing up and wiping the cold from her thick, frilly skirt.

Mrs. Dursely sighed, seemingly forgetting the question that had called her over 6 Privet Drive. "Darling you know you'll catch a cold out in this weather, wouldn't you rather drink some hot chocolate and read a book?"

Mrs. Dursley was an alright woman, when she wasn't bragging about her 'darling little boy'. A bit snobbish at times, and tended to get snappish when she was irritated, but alright. She was even a little bit motherly at times, like now for instance, clearly trying to distract Janelle with those particular tendencies.

Not that it would work, considering the black haired little babe in her arms.

"Who's that?" Janelle asked, tippy-toeing to get a better look at the thickly clothed bundle.

Mrs. Dursley pursed her lips. "Harry... Harry Potter, he was my sister's son." her voice sounded slightly off as she said this.

Janelle poked the blanket lightly, lips upturning when it crinkled to the side to reveal a chubby, pale face and squinty eyes. " _Was_?"

"She'd died recently." Mrs. Dursley cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable. "A car crash. So little Harry was given to us to take care of."

"Oh- _oh_. I'm sorry Mrs. Dursley, I hope you feel better soon. He's a cute one." Janelle said, shoulders hunching slightly inwards, feeling guilty about bringing her dead sister up.

Mrs. Dursley shook her head, curls bouncing around. "No, no, it's quite alright," she sniffed. "We're taking him out today, to buy him some clothes that will fit him."

Janelle rubbed her neck uncertainly, and tried to pass off a cheery smile. "Well, have fun I guess. See you around Mrs. Dursley."

The older woman gave her a pursed smile and nod, waved her a goodbye and made her way back to the Dursley car where Mr. Dursley red with impatience.

Janelle watched as once everyone was buckled in, the car backed out of the driveway smoothly, if a slightly bit wobbly although it was almost unnoticeable, and drove off.

She sighed and shook her head, kicked a lump of snow, and made her way back up the driveway.

A cup of hot chocolate did sound rather good.


	2. Chapter 2: Little Mr Potter

Edited 07/07/17

I think we all know that I don't own Harry Potter.

 **Chapter 2: Little Mr. Potter**

"Janelle, will you come over here for a second?"

Janelle turned, the front of her bike following with, to see Mrs. Dursley standing on her porch. Sighing, but relieved at possibly having something to do, she climbed off her bike, a bright hot pink one that she'd begged to get for her birthday years ago, and walked it with her on her way over to the Dursley home.

"Something you needed, Mrs. Dursley?" asked Janelle politely, as always.

"Yes, I was going to ask if you could babysit Harry for me, please? Me and Vernon, we're going out today, we'll be very busy you see and won't have the time to look after him." asked Mrs. Dursley, smiling tersely, as always. Mrs. Dursley's expression only ranged from 'your just barely tolerable' to 'dear lord get away from me', as if she was constantly smelling pig shit. Every time she smiled it was as if someone had done a shitty job trying to carve plastic.

Janelle leaned on her bike. "What about Dudley?"

"Oh, we'll be taking him with us. One little boy's enough, but two... you know how it is dear. Will you do it?" said Mrs. Dursley, attempting – and failing – to looking earnest.

"I guess..." Janelle shrugged, kicking her foot against the driveway. Nothing against babysitting Harry, he was one of the quietest babies she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, but she thought it was mightily unfair that the Dursley's always took advantage of her, never taking him with them to enjoy their family trips and instead paying her heftily to watch over him.

"Oh, thank you so much darling, just wait here for a moment while I get his stuff." Mrs. Dursley exclaimed loudly, cupping Janelle's shoulders in a firm grip of gratitude before quickly making her way inside, the door closing solidly behind her.

Janelle stared, before looking away. It was August now, in late summer. It wasn't particularly sunny for once, clouds covering most of the sky like cotton balls. She had yet to see the sun and feel even a peal of its warmth. It would probably rain later, she figured.

Her eyes wandered over the admittedly lovely rose bushes, wishing she had gum to chew on while Mrs. Dursley took an exceptionally long time to come back.

It was rather odd how the Dursley's rarely ever talked about Harry. Mrs. Dursley rarely ever spoke of him, only mentioning him when she was comparing him to Dudley. Janelle tended to sit in on the garden and cooking club meetings that the women on Privet Drive participated in, as it was where she was usually offered another babysitting job. They were all apparently far too busy with tending to their rose bushes and swapping recipes to keep an eye on their children that they loved to brag about. It was quite unfortunate that the only one that truly dotted on their child was Mrs. Dursley.

It was also pretty odd that Janelle never saw Harry if he wasn't with her, not even playing outside in the Dursley backyard with Dudley, from which she could see into when she was playing in her tree-house. It was as if little Harry Potter didn't exist.

Janelle wondered how much work it was to take care of Dudley that they couldn't give Harry the care that he needed at the same time.

The door opened and out came Mrs. Dursley, a quiet twelve or thirteen-month-old Harry in her bony arms, a bag of his belongings in her other hand. Carefully she transferred Harry into Janelle's arms, his beautiful large green eyes curiously soaking her up. She swore they twinkled in recognition.

The bag was placed into the basket attached to her bike, and with a goodbye wave to Mrs. Dursley pulled her bike with her down the driveway, her head leaning on her shoulder to see her feet around Harry. She crossed onto her front yard, took the bag, and let her bike fall, and toed open the door to her house.

It was warm inside, jazz music playing softly. Janelle walked through the hallway, making a turn into the living room where it was empty. She could hear her mother upstairs humming along to the soft soprano of the singer, probably folding clean clothes. The iron board and iron were out, so Janelle placed Harry and his bag safely on the couch, before placing the cooling iron out of reach of pudgy little hands and moved the pink flowery board out of the way.

After Harry was contently sitting on the floor, baby blanket and a few cushions surrounding him, and some of her old toys to keep him happy, Janelle walked to the base of the staircase and called, "Mum! I brought Harry to watch over!"

The humming upstairs stopped. "Harry? Harry Potter you mean? Not Harry Davidson on Craig's Street?" Gwen Bannister's Scottish tilt graced the air, one that Janelle had inherited.

"That'd be the one!"

"Be careful, put away the board would you dear? I've got chores to do, I'm far too busy to help you. I heard he was a messy one!"

Messy one? If anything, Annie Tent just five houses down was a messy one. With those words said Janelle departed from the hallway and back into the family room, spotting Harry on his back, wiggling like tortoise on its shell.

Janelle grinned, picking up the finally happy and smiling boy into her arms. "What do you think we should do, Mr. Potter?"

He clapped his hands excitedly.

"He wasn't any trouble, was he?" Mrs. Dursley asked later, unreasonably anxious as she always was. The sun was barely casting any light, the night sky clouds eating all its rays away.

"No he wasn't any trouble," Janelle reassured the prickly woman. "'didn't make a mess or anything."

Mrs. Dursley sighed heavily, relieved. "Good, good." And then she shot Janelle a hopeful – as hopeful as she could make her face seem – look. "You wouldn't mind doing looking after Harry tomorrow, would you?

"Five pound an hour Mrs. Dursley, seven during school days, as always."

Mrs. Dursley smiled with her teeth, enhancing the horse quality to her face. "Thank you, Janelle, you're a wonderful girl, you know?"

Janelle's smile was lopsided. "No problem miss, see you around."


	3. Chapter 3: Bwuababana

I think we all know that I don't own Harry Potter

Warnings: mentions of suspected neglect

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 3: Bwuababana**

Janelle hummed, singing a word or two every now and then as she lay on her back, eyes on the cream coloured ceiling of the Bannister living room. The lights were off, so her eyes didn't hurt from continuously staring near the small light bulb chandelier, but it wasn't dark in the room either. Glowing sunlight poured in through the entirely glass windowed wall that expanded from the ceiling to a ruler length above the floor, the plum and crimson drapes gathered heavily to the sides.

It was a lazy day, today, as she relaxed to the sound of classical music playing on the golden gramophone, perched on its own little table near the telly. Janelle was soaking up the sun's rays and warmth like a snake, her arms and legs spread across the carpet like a starfish, prepared to catch Harry if he so much as tripped over his toe.

Said little boy was sitting in the nook between her arm and chest, playing with a pile of blocks that Janelle's mother had kept since she was a toddler. She always took it with her, or had it open in her house whenever she babysat, it always kept the little babes occupied.

Absentmindedly, Janelle ran her hand through Harry's hair, the black tufts in a right mess. She pitied his future self. That hair was never going to bow to the ways of a brush or comb, not without at least two bottles of super gel and a miracle. It was a wonder there weren't any knots or tangles hiding in it,

"Ba-babababagta. Oooooh-shakamama ma." Harry blubbered nonsense.

Janelle grinned, eyes closed as she listened to the toddler talk. She wasn't sure if he'd said his first word yet, besides the usual baby babble talk, but for the past few weeks that she'd been looking after him, which was almost every day now after she got home from school, she'd been trying to teach him to say her name.

It was a bit of a lost cause, the letter J seemed a bit too much for a tot his age, but she perservered.

"C'mon Harry, Ja – nelle. Janelle!"

Harry's green eyes twinkled, and he laughed. "Bwuababana."

"Nonono, Ja-nelle."

"Che... Chehebebebe."

Janelle ground exaggeratedly, burying her head into his back. He giggled something incoherently.

She gave up, maybe she'd try in a few months.

It was months later instead when he'd said his first word, and it wasn't her name, but at least he was speaking now, and had some basic comprehension of what came out of her mouth.

"C'mon, up you go, I'm hungry and I can't leave you in here." Janelle said one winters day, and scratching her head underneath her bright, hand knitted beanie.

"No."

Janelle frowned, tapped a foot. "Whaddya mean 'no'?"

Harry shook his head, face serious. "No."

Janelle looked down at him, bemused. She'd never dealt with a little babe in their 'no' phase. She didn't regularly babysat tots as small as he, usually she watched over the ones that were half her age, maybe a bit younger than that. Janelle wasn't entirely sure on what to do. Her mum had been thankful that Janelle hadn't had a 'no' phase.

"Well I can't leave you here alone." said Janelle plainly.

"No."

Janelle sighed, rubbed her grumbling tummy forlornly and sent a despairing look to the kitchens. "Muuuuuum! Can you make me something to eat!"

"What am I, your slave? I can't do everything for you Janelle!" her mother's Scottish lilt called back from somewhere upstairs.

Janelle exhaled through her nose, hands on her hips, foot tapping wildly while Harry looked wide eyed up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the layers of wood and whatever else the ceiling was made of, to her mother. That, or he was mystified about where the disembodied voice came from.

"Well, I guess that settles it. Get over here you little bugger." Janelle bent over and made a grab for Harry. His eyes widened even more when he saw her and scooted on backwards on his bottom, legs kicking.

"Noo!" he cooed loudly.

"Oh yes!" She grinned evilly, poking his sides as she plucked him up from the ground and into her arms. He shrieked with laughter, wiggling wildly in her arms. Janelle took him to the kitchen, pulling out some leftover pudding the night before. It was chocolate, rich and sweet and after convincing Harry to have a little bite they scarfed down the whole thing.

Janelle smiled into her cup of milk as Harry smeared the last scrapes of pudding across his cheeks. She didn't get to spend much time with him anymore, as she had school and was often busy with her homework, friends, and babysitting other little ones, but she often had the whole of Saturdays to have him over.

The Dursley's were weird, and if Janelle were honest, neglectful. It worried her. Mrs. Dursley may have insisted what a ' _joy_ ' Harry was to have, even if he was a little trouble, and had convinced all the mothers on Privet Drive and maybe even all Little Whinging that Harry was treated like a little prince, but Janelle wasn't blind.

Little Harry Potter was a little on the thin side, a small but noticeable difference to when he first arrived. Janelle had noticed this almost instantly, not easily swayed by Mrs. Dursley's reassuring voice and kind words.

He had once been a chubby little thing with rosy red cheeks. He hadn't any rolls, but there had been more than enough fat on his adorable face to pinch cutely without having to try to grasp a little more of what wasn't. While that wouldn't have been too big of a worry, as some babies did tend to be exceptionally fussy when it came to their food, or had an eternity long list of allergies that always made it hard on families when buying groceries, and just didn't eat as much as other babes, Harry Potter wasn't the slightest bit fussy about anything. Maybe his hair, but that was about it.

He'd eaten anything she placed in front of him, scarfing it down and always asking for more. He absolutely loved food.

And Janelle had seen the looks Mrs. Dursley gave Harry, always looking at him with a thinly strained veil of disdain. Janelle wasn't sure if the women hated the boy, but she certainly didn't like him. She was also certain that Mr. Dursley hadn't had anything to do with Harry, she had yet to see the two together.

Don't even get her started on Dudley. The boy was spoiled enough as it was without her attention. Chubby, full of rolls and constantly dotted on, Dudley overshadowed Harry. Plain and simple.

So, Janelle was worried. Harry Potter wasn't starving, at least not for food (hopefully, oh lord, at least Janelle was here to fed him). Janelle was still technically a child, she couldn't really speak up about her concerns, because nobody would listen, especially when it seemed like she was the only one to notice. She would rather not have all the mothers cooing behind their hands about how 'cute' it was that she was 'making things up' so she could have her own little child, as if she wanted to steal Harry Potter for her own.

Everyone thought she'd be housewife when she grew older, and pop out a good number of children. That or she'd work in day-care or something. The almost preteen would probably set something on fire if she was given _another_ set of Barbie Head toys. Plastic hair was almost as flammable as actual hair.

Janelle decided to take it upon herself to babysit him whenever she could, make sure he got his food and attention. But after that... Janelle didn't know how to proceed.

"More?" Harry tilted his head. Janelle sipped her cold milk, wiping a smudge of pudding off his cheek with her thumb.

"'Fraid not, little man."

Harry pouted.


	4. Chap 4: Weird Things Happen Around Jelly

I think we all know that I don't own Harry Potter.

For clarification, jelly shot = jelly in a little shot cup, not actual alcoholic jelly, in shot cups.

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 4: Weird Things Happen Around Jelly**

"Jewwy!Jewwyjewwyjewwy!" a little voice cried.

Janelle raised a brow at the little black-haired leech hanging off her leg. Harry's small arms were wrapped around her calves as tightly as he could hold them, his chin resting upon her knee as he looked up at her imploringly, eyes widened. His cheeks were flushed red, and the scar on his forehead flashed against his tanning skin.

"Jelly," Janelle corrected, pouring the hot green, sugary liquid into tiny shot cups. "and not yet, we need to let them cool down in the fridge first."

Harry frowned. She knew he didn't understand all of what she'd said, he'd just gotten the basic idea like usual. The basic idea this time being 'later'. "Jewwy _n_ _ow_."

Janelle gave him a bemused smile before awkwardly making her way to the fridge nearby, the tray full of jelly shots in her hands. It wasn't particularly hard, but Janelle fancied that it'd be much easier if Harry wasn't hanging off her like a coat. She didn't want to accidentally spill the liquid before they even got a chance to solidify _again_. She cast a sad look in the direction of the kitchen bin, where a pink soaked piece of baking parchment was scrunched inside.

Janelle was starting to get a little tired of all this green food.

At least they weren't vegetables, she mused.

"How wonger?" Harry asked, bringing her from her depression with his adorable face. She unlatched his arms and pulled him into her chest, cleaning up the counter as she did so before entering the hallway and then the living room.

"Few hours maybe, we'll just have to play with the blocks, yeah?"

Harry let out a put-out sigh, that left her shaking her head, lips upturned.

The living room was a right mess; an indoor metal clothes line stand was in the far corner, doing its job in slowly drying out Janelle's collection of short frilly and long layered skirts; the couches were pushed off to the sides so that there was more room in the centre, cushions, pillows and small blankets were strewn all over the place and there were two oddly placed stools, the remnants of a cubbyhouse that was ordered to be taken down by the vicious Gwen Bannister, Queen of No Fun and Raining on Parades.

The beige carpet floor was littered with toys; some old and new stuffed animals lay on their backs or on the couches, multi-coloured medium-sized wooden bock pyramids sat next to the racing track mat, where toy cars lay mid-race. The telly was on, playing the rock music channel softly.

Janelle moved to the very centre of the room, promptly sitting on the floor, legs crossed, and let Harry down. He wobbled on his legs a bit, arms waving around as Janelle held his torso before she slowly let him go, letting him get used to suddenly standing up without support. She watched amused as he toddled his way over to the pile of building blocks, one of the first few toys she had introduced him to.

As she watched him play, her mind churned. Harry was a little... _weird_. Is that the right word for it? It's not that he was retarded or anything, or that he was creepy and did freaky things, like having an odd fixation on violence and car crashes and the death of many of her old barbies like that one seven-year-old a few houses down had, it was more like things just... _happened_ , when he was around.

Janelle was pretty sure that the wooden building blocks Harry was currently creating a tower with were beige. Or, they _had_ been beige. A nice, soft brown that was explicitly the colour of _wood_. Now some of them were emerald green, buttercup yellow, and baby blue. If Janelle thought hard, she would distinctly remember turning around to tune the radio because it had gone static again, and in doing so clumsily knocked over the tower a slightly younger Harry had proudly built, all because her dry and tanned legs were growing and she hadn't yet gotten used to being tall. In fact, she was still kind of having a bit of a growth spurt right now and had become generally clumsy and uncoordinated all around. Harry had thus let out a shrill scream, and so startled she ended up kicking whatever had remained of the tower down on reflex.

Janelle wasn't entirely sure how he had calmed down so quickly, because right after she fell onto her bottom he was suddenly happy and laughing and acting like nothing had happened at all, attention short and distracted once again by the building blocks. The newly _coloured_ building blocks. She was dumbfounded, left to stare incredulously as Harry set to remake his tower.

There had been many other accidents and strange instances, like that one-time Mrs. Dursley had asked Janelle if she could cut his hair as it was getting awfully. The blond woman was always trying to gently push her responsibilities onto Janelle. She still did it, of course, because if Mrs. Dursley couldn't bring herself up to caring for Harry than Janelle surely would, but there seemed no point anymore when after the first few times Janelle tried cutting his hair to a respectable style it was always grew back the very next day.

Touching his ears, the nape of his neck, in an unruly, sticking up in random places style that it had been before she cut it.

Janelle rubbed her head, watching as he made car noises as he drove faded painted toy cars around his legs. It wasn't a bad look, she supposed, if anything it endeared him to her even more. They'd just have to figure out a way to cut his hair in the future.

Sighing, Janelle hopped back onto her feet, walking on the tips of her toes around the living room until she found her school bag. If there was one good thing about babysitting, it was how it helped her focus on doing her homework. Watching toddlers and little children do nonsense did tend to get boring at times, but she couldn't just leave them on their own without supervision to do whatever she wanted. Because what was the point of babysitting them then if she did that? Janelle could easily divide her attention between watching Harry and doing homework, and there really wasn't much else you could do when babysitting besides watching telly, but that got boring fast. With one last glance at the enclosure she'd strategically built around Harry and herself, and then one at Harry who was now preoccupied with singing (badly) along to the rock star on the telly, she sat before the low coffee table and immersed herself in her science homework.

A few hours and a delicious dinner later, all her set homework finished, fed Harry his dinner that Mrs. Dursley had at least provided, the Jelly shots were ready.

Harry squeaked in his throat. "Jewwy." he whispered solemnly, eyes glued to the fridge.

Janelle met his eyes with the same amount of solemnity. "Yes." she whispered.

Harry covered his mouth and nose excitedly.

She pulled out the tray of jelly shots, sliding all the tiny little cups onto the counter. With the tray in the sink she grabbed two small spoons and some strawberries, hoping to at least get something healthy into his tiny body.

She turned around. "Okay, since there's roughly around twenty-two we both get–"

Harry was midway eating his third cup, his tiny fingers glistening with globs of green jelly. Something clacked on the ground. A shot cups. He'd just gotten right into it.

Janelle stared. Her forehead crinkled. "Oy, use some manners, yeah?"

Harry just let out a refreshed sigh, slamming the shot cup on to the counter, and puckered his lips.


	5. Chapter 5: See the Stars

Ps, it's a pretty deep chapter and mentions child neglect and bullying, so warnings there.

Own Harry Potter? Sadly not.

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 5: See the Stars, They Shine So Bright Just For You**

Janelle flailed, looking around the room helplessly, as though if she stared hard and long enough she'd find the answer to her dilemma. Clearly, she did not. Harry was still looking out the window, intense green eyes focused on the outside world. He was, dare she say it, _brooding_.

Janelle hadn't a single idea what brought this on. She hadn't a single idea what to do about it either. For all her expertise in babysitting babies and children, none of them had ever brooded. Angsty teenagers and old people brooded, not toddlers. Oh there were the few sulks, little children upset over little things, not getting their way, or annoyed with the general adult populace. But those were just plain and simple sulking, refusing to eat their porridge, pouting and excessive frowning.

This, what little Harry was doing, was brooding.

The four-year-old carried a solemn air around him, seeming to weigh down on his shoulders unusually.

Inwardly, Janelle cried pathetically. All she knew was that she'd gotten home from work – she was a waitress at a 'round the corner restaurant that was becoming a teens hangout more and more– and accidentally made eye contact with Mrs. Dursley's. Suddenly she'd found herself with an armful of sullen child.

Janelle rubbed her eyes with the butt of her palms, probably smudging her cheap eyeliner, before carefully joining Harry at the cushioned window seat. She looked out the window, wondering what had caught his attention, or more likely what could lead a four-year-old into deep thought.

"Something the matter, buttercup?"

Janelle wasn't rude, but she certainly wasn't soft. If anything, she was blunt, and it was to her luck that Harry responded particularly well to what many considered an obnoxious trait of hers.

His head ducked, and mumbled something too quiet for Janelle to hear.

"'m afraid I didn't catch that, shortcake, mind telling me again?" Janelle asked. She rested her cheek on her bent knee, arms wrapped around her calf.

Harry's shoulders hunched in on themselves, lip's quivering. "D-Dudley being mean again, friends too."

Janelle silently thanked the deities that despite his chopped, four-year-old speech patterns, Harry could tell the difference between what was important and what wasn't, and communicate it. He didn't butter her up with details that were unnecessary, as most children did, getting straight to the point instead. She frowning concernedly, and patted Harry to continue.

He rubbed his eye, his breath catching as he spoke. "We in the sandpits, and H-harry was building castle, b-but then they knocked it down," he was just barely holding himself together, and Janelle was sure that the sound of something shattering was her heart.

Janelle stared at the precious child as he described with a shaky voice what had gone down at the park. Apparently the other boys have been jealous of his sandcastle that he had been so proud of making, and when they'd kicked it down he hadn't been exactly been hurt, because apparentlythat was _normal_ – Janelle was seething at this point, unable to believe that the bullying those other little boys did had happened enough times that he'd perceived it as something _normal_ – and so he'd started to build another one, only thing was, this one had just suddenly appeared.

The other boys had been scared and immediately blamed him for its sudden appearance, and while it was cool that a super-duper huge and awesome sand castle had _magically_ appeared, it was fucking crazy and they all called him a freak before running away.

Of course, Harry hadn't said it like that, but it was implied, and all Janelle could do was breath in deeply. For the life of her she couldn't remember if she'd ever been as angry as she was now. She could have just socked the kid that had dared call Harry a freak.

"Oh Harry, come here." she said gently, gathering him into her arms. He cried, wiping his nose on her shirt, but Janelle didn't find it in herself to care. Truthfully, without her, Harry was a lonely child. He had almost no friends on Privet Drive, no one wanted to play with him, especially as Mrs. Dursley also made him out to be a troublemaker now. It didn't surprise her how much hate she felt towards the Dursleys. The only reason Harry had the playmates that he did was because it was inevitable that she'd end up looking after more than one child at a time, and sometimes, or most times, Harry was with her when she did.

Janelle hummed softly, feeling like she was going to cry herself. She loved kids, she truly did, but sometimes they were just plain little jerks and it hurt her so much that there was nothing she could do. Regularly looking after him didn't seem to help as much as she wished, he only had confidence in her presence, in fact it must have been rather unhealthy that he only had one good relationship in his life, and it wasn't even with his own mother.

"Oh Harry," she said again, threading her fingers through his dark hair comfortingly. His head was pressed into her neck and she decided a walk around the room slowly would be soothing. "If something like that ever happens again, I want you to ask Mrs. Dursley to take you straight to me, okay? I'll always have time for you, even when I'm at work. We won't mind you sitting at the counter."

She'd have to tell this to Mrs. Dursley later, the horsey woman would dismiss it if Harry told her only.

He sniffled quietly, and nodded his head. Janelle let out the breath she'd been holding and wiped his wet cheeks, feeling a little teary herself. "You'll always have me, I don't want you think you're alone okay? You can come over any time you want, I don't care if Mrs. Dursley won't let you, you just tell her to talk to me, got it?"

He nodded again, looking less glum, and she smiled with relief. Janelle worried for his state of mind. Whatever respect Janelle might have had for that horse-face women – if she'd had any at all before she met Harry – went down the drain. She wasn't merely looking after Harry for the sake of being polite and earning a few pounds, she was looking after him because she cared, because she loved him.

Janelle was smart, she knew what could happen if Harry grew up neglected and being bullied like he was now. Janelle swore she wouldn't let that happen, she absolutely refused to let him grow up thinking he was alone and that he wasn't wanted, that he was a 'freak'. Nothing nice came out of children that were forced to grow up like that.

"Look," she whispered, catching his attention. She walked back to the window calmly, bring herself and Harry closer so that they could look upwards to the sky. It was starting to darken, and Harry would be sleeping over tonight. Again, like usual, the Dursley's were too busy with the classy party they'd been invited to, to bring Harry along with them.

"You see all those stars?" she said, pointing up at them. Harry nodded slowly, his attention focused on the dimly sparkling stars. Soon enough they would be clearly visible in the dark light, but for now, they would only twinkle every so often, gone unnoticed by the rest of Privet Drive. "Two of 'em are your parents, the very brightest ones, watching you now."

Harry's eyes grew wide with a hope that nearly crushed her heart. She'd never been so grateful that her mother and father were alive. She doubted anyone on Privet Drive would do as she was right now – everyone was cold and only interested in their own lives unless they were gossiping.

"Mum and dad?"

"That's right, and they're so proud of you, you know?" Janelle would kill them herself if they weren't. She didn't want to believe that Harry's father was a homeless drunk that had gotten himself and his wife killed. For all she knew, Petunia Dursley could be lying. Janelle could see the disdain she held for sister, it was as clear as day.

For Harry's sake Janelle hoped she was.

"They are?"

"Mhmm, and I am too, y'know? You're a bright boy Harry, don't let them change you."

Harry would have the chance to have a good childhood. Janelle would make sure of it.


	6. Chap 6: Can't Get Rid Of Me That Easily

Man I wished I owned Harry Potter. Don't we all?

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 6: Can't Get Rid of Me That Easily**

"Jelly?"

"Yeah Harry?" Janelle hummed, pulling a little of her attention away from the essay she was currently writing to Harry, who had previously been content with reading one of the pictures books that Janelle left lying around.

"D'you think I'm… weird?"

Janelle blinked and turned to him, unable to understand why'd he ask her that. "No, why would you think that?"

He shrugged, fiddling with the pages of the book. "All the other kids say it, and Dudley always calls me it."

"Don't listen to them, I've told you before haven't I? It doesn't matter what they think, all that matters is what you think." She added as an afterthought, "Besides, I thought you said you didn't care what Dudley says?"

"I don't but…"

Janelle sighed, "Honestly Harry, you make me feel older than I actually am. That's not a good thing you know, I can't be acting like a granny when I'm only seventeen."

Harry grinned abashedly, ducking his head down and reading his book again. Janelle swivelled her chair so that she faced him fully and propped an elbow on her desk, cheek resting in her palm.

It'd been six years since Harry arrived on Privet Drive, and Janelle just couldn't believe it. He'd been so tiny back then, and look at him now! He was walking on his own and speaking full and proper sentences. He was a little genius he was, very perceptive although he didn't fully understand everything he saw.

He didn't quite reach her hips yet, maybe just mid-thigh as Janelle was rather tall herself, and wasn't as thin and frail looking as he had used to look. Now he looked like every other, well cared for child. She always laughed when'd he complained about getting clothes as a present for his birthday and Christmas, but she knew that he loved them. He'd had to wear Dudley's old clothes, because apparently the Dursley's couldn't ' _afford_ ' to buy him his own ones.

Janelle had been absolutely disgusted at how they had acted towards Harry. Sure he was a little… _different_ – weird things tended to happen around him, unexplained things that were just tad bit impossible to comprehend for a mind like Janelle's, one of which thrived on science and phycology, but they happened anyway, defying all logic that Janelle had learnt to just accept it as something so obviously Harry; It wasn't that he himself was weird, weird things just happened around him – and he might have been the son of Petunia's hated sister, but that did _not_ justify the way they had treated him.

She had half a mind to adopt him when she turned eighteen, but knew it was a silly idea. As if they'd ever let her do _that_. Janelle rubbed her eyes tiredly. She was in a bit of hard time right now. Soon she'd be graduating school and she wanted to go to a university or a college, but if she didn't get in to either she'd have to get a job. Again. She'd previously had to resign from working as a waitress because of her studies, but she didn't think she could ever be a waitress again. Ever.

Janelle wasn't sure what she wanted to do in life, but something in scientific research or maybe becoming a phycologist sounded about right to her. She'd have to stay in Little Whinging though, or at least somewhere else in Surrey that was nearby.

Her exams were soon, and she'd been studying almost every day, letting Harry just hang around while she did. In fact, Janelle would say that he'd actually been helping her study. She was a very… interactive learner, you could say, so teaching someone else what she knew helped her greatly because it tested what she knew herself, and she needed to know very well what she was teaching if she wanted to be fluent and have her student understand what he was learning. Clear communication was good, and Harry happened to be a very good listener.

She was expecting straight A's in his subjects when he started school. As if she'd let all those hours of teaching him about trigonometry and Newtons Law's go out through one ear and out the other.

Janelle hummed a cheery tune, looking around her room. It hadn't changed much in the past six years; the only difference was the sporadically coloured objects. Again, weird things tended to happen around Harry, and so now three of her walls were black, like she had purposely painted, but one of them looked like she'd let a child loose with a box of unlimited coloured crayons. It was endearing she guessed, and her last boyfriend had thought it was adorable how much she'd cared so much about Harry, enough to let him run wild in her room. Unfortunately, they'd broken up months ago, but now Janelle was hopefully seeing this other boy she'd met one day while she was out shopping for a new book to read.

Damien was cute, with his curly brown hair, timid nature, and a smile that could melt hearts. They'd hit it off right away, and that was all and good, but the thing was… Harry didn't like him.

It was real bummer, and Janelle eyed the stack of letters she'd received from Damien forlornly. He was _so_ romantic, and he was just… he was just so nice, and adorable, and understanding. Most boys thought it was weird how much she doted on Harry, a kid who wasn't her brother, not her family, not even related to her and wasn't even her own. They always got annoyed when she said she had to check first if her schedule was free and that if it was okay by Harry that she could go. They just couldn't seem to understand that he was practically her child, and that there was nothing she loved more than the little Potter.

Janelle guessed it was bit unhealthy, but she felt responsible for Harry. The Dursley's certainly didn't want to take care of him, so she did(with the help of her mother and father, she was still a teen, but it was mostly her). As unhappy as they appeared to be that Harry was let out of the Dursley home, they were more than happy that he wasn't 'bothering' them.

And Damien understood her situation perfectly, having had to look after his own little sister when his mother had died and his father was too sick to care for them. Janelle clutched at her heart and swivelled her chair around dramatically. Why was it that when she finally found someone she thought was amazing, Harry had to basically hate his guts? God, she knew he hadn't really liked all her previous boyfriends, protective little boy that he was, but he just outright hated Damien!

"What's wrong?" Harry noticed her mood right away. Sometimes she wondered if maybe he was empathic, but cast that thought aside. She'd been reading too many comics lately.

"Just thinking about Damien." she said, eyes drifting to bracelet on her wrist. He'd bought it for her a few weeks ago and she had yet to take it off.

"Eww." Immediately he scowled, nose scrunched as if he'd smelt something horrible, or eaten something sour. This was exactly the problem. If Harry kept this up then she was going to become a crazy old cat lady like that old hag a few houses down. Oh Lord, just thinking of it made her shiver. That woman was always talking to her cats, more than ten of them. Janelle shuddered to think about the idea that she'd end up like that. Those cats' faces looked like squashed pumpkins.

"Oh Harry! I honestly fail to see your problem with him! He's so sweet, he even brought you lollies!" she pointed desperately at the pile of wrapped chewie's that sat near him.

Harry look near horrified to realise that the sweets he'd become slowly addicted to were bought by Damien.

Janelle slumped, running a hand through her dark hair. "I fail to see the problem you have with Damien, and I know it shouldn't _really_ matter whether you like him or not, but it'd make me feel better if you did!"

Harry squinted, pouting. And then he swiftly looked away leaving Janelle to fall to the floor dramatically and shuffle over to him so she could get all up in his face. It always brought a laugh out of him, and like every other time he was upset and she did this, a few reluctant giggles left him.

Then he did a one-eighth and frowned, displeased, cheeks puffing out. "He's going to take Jelly away."

Janelle blinked, eyebrows shooting up. "Harry," her lip twitched. "You can't get rid of me that easily. No boy is going to take me away."

Harry blew a raspberry unhappily. "You don't know that," he mumbled, green eyes lowering and digging his ear into his shoulder.

She sighed, and sat on her shins. She held his chin and lifted is face up to hers. "I promise you Harry that I'm never going to leave, not because of a boy, a job, or anything else for that matter."

He looked at her, hope shining in his eyes, and Janelle felt her anger towards the Dursley's flare. It seemed that no matter how much time Harry spent at her house, how much time she cared for him, fed him, played, taught, clothed him, the Dursley's rotten fingers still found a way to dig themselves into him.

Her only consolation was that he could have been worse off had she not been there, and Janelle dared not to think about what could have been.

Janelle smiled softly, carding her fingers through his unruly dark hair. "You'll always have me, I swear it."

The grin he gave her was blinding.


	7. Chapter 7: A Curious Visitor

Own Harry Potter? I wish, honey, oh I wish.

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 7: A Curious Visitor**

Janelle tilted her head in curiosity, and bemusement. It wasn't every day that you had a cat scratch on your door, somehow activate the doorbell that was more than a meter up from the ground, and practically outright demanded to be let in.

The silver marked tabby simply sat there, coat groomed clean, markings around its eyes that faintly resembled glasses, watching Janelle with a startling intelligent gaze. Janelle had the feeling that she was being measured, but what for, she didn't know, and why from a cat, she hadn't a clue.

Janelle looked down both ends of the street. It was void of anyone, much less a child or teen looking for their lost cat.

Its tail twitched, and Janelle scratched her cheek and tilted her head questioningly. "Would you... would you like to come in?"

Janelle knew very well that she was talking to a cat, and she knew very well that it couldn't – shouldn't – possibly understand her, but she asked anyways. The tabby gave her a look, and she felt as though she was being scolded by a teacher, as if she'd done something naughty in class.

Shaking her head free of those thoughts she lifted a foot and cracked open the door some more, letting it gracefully slip inside. Janelle closed the door and slowly followed the curious cat. She lifted a hand to her mouth and watched the cat barely flinch as she called, "Harry! Come down, it seems we have a visitor today!"

Something thudded, Janelle guessed he had jumped from her bed, and then a stampede was heard. "O-oy! No running down the stairs!"

The footsteps slowed but they were still considerably fast as they trotted down the stairs. Harry bounded into view, his green eyes just barely peeking over the railing and his round glasses, the ones that he'd gotten just a month ago and was already sporting a small piece of tape around the middle, knocked slightly askew as he leaned up.

Harry was a quiet boy in the face of newcomers and stranger, and perhaps would forever be one, as no matter what Janelle did or exposed him to, he still liked to hide behind her for comfort. Only, this was a cat, so the moment his eyes landed on the tabby, he gasped and stumbled onto the landing, arms out and ready to grab the poor girl.

Janelle quickly placed a gentle hand on his chest, "If you surprise her you might scare her away, Harry."

Inwardly she doubted that. The tabby hadn't moved so much as an in inch as he basically ran down stairs. The intense look in its eyes hadn't a single glare of wariness or caution, if anything Janelle was pretty sure it was curious and expectant.

"Whose is it?" Harry whispered. He was finally able to pronounce his words clearly at the ripe age of seven.

Janelle shrugged. "No clue, she hasn't got a collar on her or anything."

Harry frowned. "A stray?" and then those green eyes lit up. "Can we keep her?"

Janelle shook her head, wincing slightly at his face fell. "Don't think so, her fur's all clean and groomed you see? Besides, she's only here for a visit." Janelle paused. "I think?" she shot the cat a puzzled look, somehow feeling natural to do so.

It had been listening to them talk so intently, eyes never leaving Harry, tilting it's head every so often while she spoke with him. It was like it understood what they were saying, and it was starting to unnerve the eighteen-year-old.

The damned thing met her eyes before innocently licking its paws, treading its way carefully to Harry. It nudged his knee with its nose, even rubbed its head slightly as he giggled, and then calmly made its way back to the door.

"Does it have to go now?" Harry whined. "She just got here!"

Janelle sighed. "She's a cat Harry, they do what they want." And then she opened the door, received what must've been an approving look, and the silver tabby went on its way. Janelle simply watched, bemused again, scratching her head.

"How strange," she mumbled.

"It wasn't that strange," Harry said in the voice that usually meant he was going to go on a tangent. Janelle's lips quirked and ruffled his hair, urging them back upstairs.

"–I mean, the snake was stranger - I think it was a snake, or a big worm?" Harry blew his cheeks out, thinking hard.

Janelle paled. "Snake?!"

Harry smiled brightly. "In the backyard!"

She squeaked. She'd rather the cat, hell, even those owls that sometimes came by were better than a snake.

"H-Harry, haha, I think maybe we shouldn't play in the yard, okay?"

Bless his heart, Harry looked seriously confused. "I guess...? Then, scrabble!"

Board games were good. Yes, safe. Despite her seven years of exposure, Janelle was still a little out of it when it came to bizarre events that seemed to not directly link to Harry. She could handle coloured blocks and randomly burnt marks on her carpet. But a talking snake as he was informing her about at the very moment? Give her a few years, maybe, and then try asking her.

"So... can I get one?"

"What, a snake? No."

"Next year then?"

Janelle sighed but couldn't resist smiling. "Maybe."


	8. Chapter 8: The Beginning

Who owns Harry Potter? Certainly not me.

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 8: The Beginning**

Nothing much happened in the next few years. Nothing that's noteworthy, at least. Janelle graduated high school, Harry turned eight, he picked up on her habit of hoarding sweets, her parents left her the house; Harry turned nine, he begged her to take him to the zoo, and Mrs. Dursley, the horsey hag, denied Janelle from taking him out, and in turn Janelle's disdain grew. Things continued as they always did, and they grew.

They lived life. One, two, three, five, seven and nine and now ten, almost eleven but just not quite yet. Janelle was twenty-one now, and boy did she have no idea what she wanted to do. Her mind had changed a lot since she had been a teen.

She pondered all her options – there were so many yet so few. Essentially, she could probably do whatever she wanted, but then she'd have to deal with men and their prejudice. It was fucking nineteen-almost-ninety-one and they were all still so slow on the uptake. Janelle, personally, didn't give two shits about what others thought, especially what men thought, but if they interfered with her work, and distracted her with their stupidity and moronic superior complexes, someone would end up with a broken nose – and her, a job lost.

Janelle sighed, and looked out the window. She blinked. And then blinked again. Tilted her head sideways even. She squinted hard, just in case her eyes were mistaken.

You know what? She sat down her mug on the counter and pressed herself up against the glass. She wasn't even all that surprised. Of course, it was fucking 4 Privet Drive that had a whole – _flock_ of owls sitting outside and on top and around their house, even perching on the nearby trees and on the fences across the street and circling above in the sky.

In the past few years Janelle had finally come to grow a sort of blasé pertaining to a certain boy – she had finally, completely accepted that 'normal' just wasn't his style.

So, Janelle wasn't surprised, she was just rather indifferent, and even let out a morbid, curious, 'huh, would you look at that'. Out of all the strange things that she had seen, this topped the cake. She could just imagine what the Dursley's were thinking. Vernon was probably busting a nut inside, his fat face flushed red and his moustache almost ready to make the leap of faith off his face.

The morning was still, and if you excluded the loud chirping noises the owls' voices combined made, it could also have been considered peaceful.

Janelle found her mug and took a sip. She'd ask Harry later about what the letters that owls had contained, the ones that more than half of them had either tied to their foot, grasped in their claws, or held in their beaks, because she knew that they couldn't for anyone else but him.

Janelle dozed, content to listen to the hoots and toots of the owls. And then the Dursley's home door slammed open and Mr. Dursley's fat arse ran down to his car, red in the face – just as Janelle knew he would be – and harshly shooed all the owls on his car with an old rolled newspaper. Suddenly she remembered how they had practically become hermits within the past few days; the last time she saw them leave their house was three days ago, absolutely shocking for such an outgoing family. Their latest paper was even sitting wet on their lawn. Her brows raised in astonishment as the rest of the family – plus Harry – piled into the car.

It was only when they drove off with startling speed did her brows furrow, as she worried what the hell they were up to.

With mild alarm that was just starting to catch up to her recently woken mind, Janelle wondered if maybe she should have stopped them.

This, after all, couldn't be good, not if it pushed Mr. Dursley enough that he'd run away, even thinking of taking Harry with him. Especially if Harry was most likely the cause.

Janelle grimaced, finally realising her mistake of just sleepily watching them, when she heard her mail slot open and close.

She padded into the hallway and immediately spotted the white envelope, a dark green stamp sealing it shut.

She picked it up, running her fingers over the unfamiliar stamp curiously before flipping it over.

It was for Harry, but for some reason addressed to her house. Huh. It kind of looked like the letters the owls had been carrying, slightly yellowed and beige with time, but crispy with care. Well, all she could do now was wait until they came back.

 _Hogwarts_ … her nose screwed up. It sounded like a disease.


	9. Chapter 9: The Letter

Phsaw, like hell do I right well enough that I could actually own Harry Potter.

Edited 07/07/17

 **Chapter 9: The Letter**

A day later and they were back. Janelle watched bemused, crouched over her flowerbed, gloves on her hands and a small shovel in one. The Dursley's looked dead tired, if generally alright as they climbed out of their car.

Between yesterday morning and now, sometime late in the afternoon where the sky was turning orange and everything was glowing yellow, every single owl that had been perched on the block, vanished. They were gone, just like that. Took off and flock in a mighty flock to Lord knows where.

Not even a single dollop of owl poop could be found as evidence of their presence. Janelle raised a hand to scratch her head, paused, and reconsidered it as she eyed the dirty gloves covering her hands, before watching with barely concealed mirth as Harry all but stumbled across the grass of the Dursley's front lawn, over the small hedge separating the two lawns, and then on to her own. He just barely kept himself from tripping over his feet.

He wore his pyjamas: a well-cared for old shirt of hers that was just a little too big on him, and a pair of thick, warm pants that she'd bought for him recently. He'd grown out of the last pair, and Mrs. Dursley was such an ogre that she actually refused Janelle's ' _charity'_ and only let her buy the one, and only when he absolutely needed it. Apparently, he was all set and good that he – or _they_ , as it had been implied – didn't need the help, so her ' _donations_ ' were refused.

"You seem excited," Janelle said, lip twitching as she finally stood up.

Harry wasted no time. "Do you have my mail?"

Janelle blinked. "What mail?"

Harry looked absolutely heartbroken, before his eyes narrowed suspiciously at her. "Wait a minute…"

Janelle laughed, pulling off her gloves so she could run a hand through his hair. Was it weird of her to feel like a mother at the age of twenty-one? Oh jeez, Harry was making her old. He grumbled, trying, and failing to swat her hand away. "Yeah, you're right, I've got your mail. It's inside, c'mon, let's go."

She picked up her tools, cast her flowerbed a forlorn look, before deciding that she could do them another day. They were just flowers, the worst that could happen was her mother calling her up on the line demanding why she was ruining her rose bush.

"So how'd you know I got your mail?" Janelle asked the excited boy, placing her tools beside the door and walking into the kitchen, looking into her fridge to whip something up for him. Pancakes maybe? She moved the veggies around, looking for the punnet of strawberries she'd bought early that week. She let out a little cheer and placed it on the counter. You couldn't have pancakes without strawberries, it just wasn't right.

"I saw one of the owls slip one into your door as we passed. Barely, but I saw it! So you _do_ have it, right?"

"That reminds me, what did you guys even do yesterday?" Janelle questioned, taking out eggs, milk and butter. "One second I'm drinking tea and the next you're all on a road trip in your pyjamas to the other side of the country."

Harry made a face. "All I wanted was the mail, but Mr. Dursley got angry. He said that he had someone waiting for him with a boat, but when we got there, there was nothing." Harry shrugged, and cleaned his glasses. There was a new piece of tape holding the bridge together. Janelle's lips pursed. She'd have to take him out to get it repaired – _again_.

"So then you guys came back here huh?" Janelle pulled out some flour and bowl onto the counter and went looking for her wooden spoon. "That man – paranoid for reasons I can't comprehend. You'd think it was like he'd been given the death sentence or something." she was still grumbling about the idiocy of Mr. Dursley as she whisked the batter, absentmindedly putting a pan on to the stove and heating it up.

Harry made a noise of agreement, before sitting up straighter. "So… where is it?"

Janelle rolled her eyes. This boy... he'd be the death of her, she just knew it. "In the drawer, you know where. Which reminds me," she cupped his face in her hands suddenly, squishing in reddening cheeks and muffling his words of surprise. "Living room corner, under the pile of blankets: your presents, Happy Birthday Harry."

He grinned bashfully, trying to duck his head down, and surged forward and out of her hands to give her a tight – very tight – and warm hug. And then in a flash he practically phased through the wall into the living room. Janelle shook her head, a smile creeping up onto her lips as the smell of pancakes started to waft.

A crash, yelp and a few drawers opening and closing later Harry walked back into the kitchen slowly, his eyes captivated by the torn envelope and letter in his hands, the present she'd gotten and wrapped for him in cheesy Happy Birthday wrapping tucked securely underneath his arm.

He was so busy reading he didn't even seem to realise that he'd miss his chance at flipping the pancakes like he loved to do. When he'd been little, like seven or eight was it? Janelle had made him pancakes for him for the first time. Never mind the fact that it had been late in the night, the Dursley's were away for some sort of small family vacation, and that the only spread that had been in the house was butter, Harry had been amazed when she'd flipped the pancakes perfectly. So now every time she made them, she'd let him do it himself.

Janelle wondered what exactly was in the letter that could make Harry miss something that for unexplained reasons always made him extremely happy.

She hummed with ill-hidden curiosity and not an ounce of shame as she moved to read the letter over his shoulder.

Her brows flew up as she caught the first line. "What...?"


	10. Chapter 10: A Stubborn Flower

Oh God, how long has it been since I last updated this thing? Nearly a year, oml. So I edited all the past chapters, can you believe it? Plot wise, not much as changed, but I've checked the grammar, spelling, changed words, add and removed sentences, etc. so if you've forgotten or feel the need to, go reread from chapter one!

Also, no Harry in this one! Sorrrrry. But the next chapter for sure!

Edited (I think. Mistakes are possible) and written 07/0717

 **Chapter 10: A Stubborn Flower**

Never in her life did Janelle have the need to hover behind the crack in her curtains, to peak her head over the tips of her fence, to masquerade behind tending her garden, but the again she'd never had a good enough reason too, not like she did now.

Due to the layout of her house, Janelle's kitchen faced the Dursley's living room head on, of which their dreary drapes were also pulled back so that their lovely (the only thing lovely about the Dursley's) side rose garden could be seen.

It was here in her kitchen that Janelle found herself stress baking, while also simultaneously spying on Petunia Dursley. The woman was completely oblivious, vacuuming her carpet with such vigour that Janelle thought her arm would fall off.

Janelle sniffed and checked her oven. It was a waiting game. She needed Petunia on her own, because one she could barely talk to Vernon without insulting him – purposely – and two, Harry was related to her through her sister.

When Vernon and Dudley finally left to go and do whatever it was they did every Saturday morning, and Harry went to visit the sweet shop with the pocket money he earned from her, Janelle stalked her way to the Dursley home with a dish of blueberry muffins.

The light wind ruffled her multi-layered skirt, held up by suspenders, the blouse she wore – one her mother had forgotten to take with her – was tucked into said skirt; her shoes were impeccable, simple pointed flats with ankle straps, and a clean gold – fake gold, mind you – watch adorned her smooth wrist, to match the small golden hoops – real gold this time – in her ears. Her hair, long and normally a right mess full of tangles was brushed out for once, braided into a crown around her head.

And lastly, a string of pearls wrung around Janelle's neck. In her head, adventurous rock music followed her as she stepped off the grassy front yard and onto the Dursley's footpath.

If there was thing you needed to know about Petunia Dursley, it was that the only type of women she associated herself with were prim, proper, and wore a set of pearls.

Unpleasant attitude that she had and horse face she unfortunately owned, Petunia wasn't oblivious. She recognised the hate growing between herself and Janelle, the way she threw on a plastic face whenever she came to pick Harry up. The niceties that had once been there when Janelle was still eleven and Petunia a newly made mother were gone; Janelle was only fairly better than Petunia was as keep her opinion inside of her head instead of on her face, the only difference was that more often than not Janelle was genuinely and generally a nice and polite person, if sometimes aloof. Most times she could be found smiling or dozing in the background. She didn't think Petunia new what the word 'kind' meant.

The only way that Petunia would even have a conversation with Janelle that would hopefully not end in sharp smiles, purposely terrible tea, and terse goodbyes, was if she cornered the woman, appealing to whatever standards she held.

Which was why Janelle wasn't wearing her crazy coloured stockings, or her bright, vibrant feathered earrings, or her doll styed high heels, and her worn leather gloves, and that dip-dyed shirt that she'd made herself, and the countless of other outstanding clothes that she knew never failed to turn Petunia's lips up in disgust whenever she saw them.

Quickly checking to make sure that the eyeliner around her eyes wasn't smudged, Janelle knocked firmly on the door.

The loud noise from the vacuum stopped, and the sound of footsteps could just barely be heard.

The door opened. Petunia's face, bare of make-up for once revealing the beginnings of crow's feet and the gauntness of her cheeks, went from slightly confused but also tolerably polite to terse and blank in a single second. "Janelle, what brings you here…?" she asked, eyeing up her outfit.

"I have muffins, Petunia. Let me in." Janelle demanded.

Petunia sighed heavily and noisily, seeming to just barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. She cracked open the door about a centimetre more, and Janelle squeezed herself inside.

Unlike its owners, the Dursley home was actually quite pleasant, smelling faintly of lavender, and the last wafts of fried bacon and sausage.

"You look… decent, for once dear." Petunia cleared her throat, eyeing Janelle's earrings for only a second before taking the plate out of her hands and leading them both to the kitchen.

"I know." said Janelle, perfectly aware that she was being petty and bitchy, but also perfectly content in that fact. "I was wondering if you had any butter, I seem to have run out for my frosting."

Petunia's cracked lips pursed into a tense smile. "You're sugar coating."

Janelle dropped the smile and brandished the envelope from where she had craftily hidden it in her skirt pocket (she sewed them on herself, hidden within the ruffles. Usually she held sweets in there, but it wasn't hard to clip the paper on to them).

The barely intact Hogwarts seal faced Petunia. Her face paled, lips falling and wobbling. Janelle felt awful, because Petunia looked truly horrified, but only for a second.

"I was hoping we could talk about this?"

Petunia just managed to pull herself together enough to curl her cracked lips up in thin disgust. "You stole that!" she accused.

Janelle flicked the envelope over. "It was sent to my address, actually."

Petunia looked taken aback. Then she pulled back, sitting straighter in her chair, holding herself together in a way that Janelle only admired by a smidgen.

"You see," Janelle drawled, tapping her the envelope on the counter between them twice, resting her face lazily on her other fist. "normally I wouldn't have bothered coming here, because I didn't particularly want to set myself up with having to see your faces any more than I normally have too, but this– "she tapped the envelope twice more, again "–I want an explanation."

Petunia sniffed haughtily. "I would rather not."

Janelle stared flatly. "Harry's mother?" She'd come prepared.

Petunia's lips pursed until her mouth was only a line, her eyes flickering off to the side.

"And father?"

A tense exhale left Janelle. Her mind was whirling, thoughts scrambling to put things together, to try and understand Petunia. The woman was disgusted, shocked, just the sight of the purple stamped seal sent her reeling. She was barely keeping herself together now, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, pulling her tacky old cardigan with her. Her shoulders were set straight and stiff, sitting so that she was both taller and leaning away from Janelle.

She wanted to know why. She wanted to know what Petunia knew about Hogwarts, why she and Vernon were so afraid of it, spiteful of it; she wanted to know how this related to Harry, how he was a wizard like the letter said he was, how this was possible. If they hadn't left like they did, hadn't had the flock of owls stalking their house for days, and Janelle had received that letter alone, then she most likely would never had suspected a thing.

Petunia's voice was a croak. "My sister… was a witch, and her terrible husband a wizard." It was painful to listen to the woman, it sounded like she was trying to swallow gravel. "They were – oh! They were so wrong, so different! It wasn't right, they were _freaks_."

She was practically hissing, disgust and fury lacing her face. It might've been a trick of the light, but for a second, Janelle thought the woman looked – sad, almost. Hurt, heartbroken. And then it was gone, and Petunia's voice cracked once before she continued her story.

Janelle interrupted her hate spew. She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Wait, wait, are you telling me this is why you treat Harry like shit? Can't even be bothered to care for him?"

"You wouldn't understand." Petunia's nostril's flared. "We didn't want him, we knew he would turn out like his mother and bastard husband. But they forced him on us! They made us take him in."

Janelle couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Dear Lord." she groaned, wiping her face. Her finger came back with some black smudge. "You just – you – agh!" she lost her words. She couldn't speak. She just couldn't believe these people.

"He was a baby. A baby!" Janelle said, incredulousness seeping off her in waves. "He didn't even know what was going on. He wasn't – isn't! – his parents."

Petunia's face was like stone now, gazing off to the side, as if she was ignoring everything Janelle said. She probably was.

Janelle slapped the envelope down, looking away in her own frustration. Without thinking, like most times in her anger, she harshly said, "Who even let you two become parents?"

Petunia immediately sucked in a sharp breath of air. She whirled on Janelle, lips pulled back. "You – how dare you? You don't have the right to say that!"

Her eyes looked wet.

"I think I do!" Janelle retorted. One part of her head was cheering her on, her hate for the Dursley's and their neglectful care fuelling her. The other part was facepalming, unable to believe the cruel words she was saying, that her anger was getting in the way of her purpose. "Considering I'm the only one that cares about Harry, after all."

Petunia didn't let her tears slip. She was a stubborn, prideful woman. But, she looked hurt again. It wasn't a trick of light, Janelle's eyes screwing around with her. She looked sad, she really did. Haunted, pained, shoulders hunched inward, moving with her erratic breathing.

Janelle sighed, closing her eyes. One day, she'd apologise, just not today. She hated hurting people, she truly did, but she convinced herself that for now it was for a good cause. For Harry.

"Look," she started, calm, maybe even a tad bit smoothing. She shifted the plate full of blueberry muffins a millimetre closer. "I just want to know. What happened to them?"

It didn't seem like Petunia would answer. But then she did.

"There was a… war, in their world." Petunia said, attempting to sound nonchalant. Janelle pretended not to notice the raspy quality to her voice. "My sister and her… _husband_ , James Potter – "the disgust that she couldn't hide was palpable as she said his name "–were some sort of, magical police, or soldiers. They were fighting in that war, and then they were… murdered – "Petunia wobbled, her voice, her lips, her fingers "–and Harry was delivered on our doorstep. _That_ is what happened."

Janelle shivered, breathing slowly. "Thank you."

Petunia met her eyes before looking elsewhere.

"Now," Janelle began. She jabbed the letter. Petunia looked nervous, and wary. "I think, it's better, for all of us involved, if I were to take care of Harry and his… schooling, from now on? Yes? Along with his care, for the most part."

Petunia, for unknown reasons, looked almost as if she wanted to protest, due to the almost upset look on her face, although only a tiny bit. Janelle truly didn't understand the woman, she couldn't seem to make up her mind, but then again Janelle didn't have a sister who was witch and was murdered because of it, left a normal human like it seemed Petunia had been.

Petunia sighed noisily, shoulders slumping. "I – yes, fine. You may do that."

Curt, defeated.

It felt unfinished between them, but Janelle didn't know why. Didn't know what was unfinished. She got what she wanted.

She cleared her throat. Picked up the envelope softly. "Harry's equipment?"

Petunia waved her bony hand.


	11. Chapter 11: The Leaky Cauldron

A lot was left unsaid in that last chapter, I know. But truthfully Janelle's not thaaat interested in it (yet), she doesn't want to know everythingv rn, just wants to understand the basics. She's perfectly fine with looking after Harry, which, no adoption or any of the sorts was implied. I doubt Petunia would let that happen considering the letter.

Wow, 8 months… Uh. Well, everybody invested in this story give your thanks to HPuni101. I finally deigned to check PM's only to be reminded about this story. Can't imagine why I didn't post this chapter (yes, yes I can, im a very lazy person) considering it was practically done, but here it is!

Also, when the next chapter will be out, I dunno. Now's really not a good time (I have half-yearly exams in like, three days), so we'll have to wait and see?

Me, own Harry Potter? Uhmmm, no.

 **Written (not edited, expect mistakes)9/07/17**

 **Chapter 11: The Leaky Cauldron**

Janelle stared at the written directions she was given, then at the many, many bookstores and smalls shops around them. The crowd around her tugged and pulled on her every way, but Harry hung onto her arm tightly.

"I don't see it." said Janelle, starting to wonder if Petunia had misled her.

"See what?" Harry asked, leaning up to peak at the small paper in her hands.

"The uh, 'Leaky Cauldron'." she said quietly.

Harry's nose scrunched, wrinkles forming on his forehead.

"I know." she laughed, then sighed. "C'mon, help me. You might have better luck at finding it then me."

They walked around aimlessly, keeping along the streets that Petunia had written down in her messy scrawl. It had been years since she had been with her sister, but the woman had at least tried, in her own sort of unpleasant way. After she'd pulled herself back into that stubborn, prideful way, ignoring the previous conversation.

Janelle's gaze was flickering over the decreasing amount of faces the further they spent walking, lost, when Harry tugged on her shirt.

"I think I found it." he said, head turned in the direction of a corner wall. Janelle eyed the brick building. She tried, or, at least she thought she tried. Her eyes skimmed over the area.

"There's nothing there, just an old, abandoned shop I think." She shook her head, gave him a small teasing grin. "Are you sure your glasses are working fine?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's there, can't you see?" he insisted.

Janelle doubtfully looked at the wall again. She even squinted, but to no avail she didn't see anything.

Harry looked disappointed.

"Well, what's it look like then?" she asked. "Describe it for me."

"It has large sign at the top. It's kind of wonky, falling to the side a bit." said Harry.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "It says 'The Leaky Cauldron', and there are windows, with I think old curtains. There's light inside." Harry scratched his cheek. "It's warm looking? The door's green, too."

Inwardly, Janelle grinned at his lacklustre description, but slowly tried to imagine what he was seeing, so very curious to what a magical building was supposed to look like. She wanted to know what wizards called their own, it all seemed incredibly fascinating to her scientific mind.

"Thank you, Harry, for that lovely imagery –" he smiled proudly, and she tweaked his glass "–but I still can't – oh, hang on…?"

Her vision went blurry. Sort of. Slightly. She looked elsewhere. Everything was clear. She looked back at the direction Harry was looking at and – "Oh!" she blinked.

In the blink of an eye, an old, dingy looking pub had appeared where previously there had been nothing.

An old wooden sign, faded and worn with age, had the bold lettering 'The Leaky Cauldron'.

Everyone around them didn't seem to notice it's sudden appearance.

Janelle's head tilted. She stared both bemused and mystified. "Now isn't that just wizard." she muttered, pausing, before giggling, extremely proud of herself.

Harry just shook his head, sighing exasperatedly, like he was tired of her lame jokes. She pouted. He always did that, thinking her jokes were dumb. Too bad he'd picked on it, eh.

"C'mon, let's go! We've been out here for too long already, d'you think it'll be bigger on the inside? It certainly looks small from out here." Janelle chattered, pulling Harry by the hand to 'Cauldron's door.

It swung open smoothly, cool air rushing out to bite at her nose. The interior was rather dim, she noted at first, and the furniture had obviously seen many years if the scratched and faded out wood were anything to go by.

She pulled Harry close to her side to keep his curious, wandering hands to himself. As an eleven-year-old boy, he loved to touch anything he could get his hands on, firmly believing that in order to analyse and understand any object one must smudge their greasy finger prints on it and then proceed to prod from every angle imaginable.

Walking around the tables earned them many curious and odd looks, some that rose in intensity when their eyes landed on Harry. Janelle swore some of them looked on the verge of approaching the both of them, but they never got the chance to.

Arriving swiftly at the bar, Janelle waved down the bartender. If Petunia's instructions were right…

"'lo!" Janelle beamed. "We're looking to get to Diagonalley, would you mind helping?"

The man shot her a look that she didn't pay to much mind to but placed down the glass he'd been cleaning. "Muggleborn, ey? You're coming a little too late to be getting supplies."

Not knowing what the hell a muggleborn was, Janelle merely nodded exuberantly. "Is it really? Would there still be things out for sale? We had a bit of situation you see…"

"No, you should be fine. The 'Alley's never short of supplies." The bartender said as they exited out a door and stopped in front of an old brick wall. "Name's Tom, by the way."

"This doesn't look like an alley." Harry said.

Tom looked down at him, snorting. "Course it don't. Can't exactly leave it open in plain sight, y'never know who might accidentally see it. Here."

He tapped on the bricks, slow enough to allow both Janelle and Harry to memorise. For a moment nothing happened, and they both stared dubiously at the unchanging wall, before a rough grinding sound could be heard.

Right in front of them, the bricks shifted, creating a gap that could be walked through. What lay beyond it left them in disbelief.

Tom pointed. "There it is. Diagonalley."


End file.
